I made my choice...

I decided not to do Grannie's grounding. The main reason is that I honestly don’t think I can spare the energy. That may sound rather weak, but it is not. This is going to be like a David Lynch film – after he raided Hunter S. Thompson’s medicine chest.

There will be my mother, basking in the glow of another crises. She will be supported by social workers, hospital staff and Christians.

There will be the other side of the family, who will serve as a reminder of the mental illnesses I have to look forward to in my later years.

There will be the co-habitants of the aged care facility, who all hated her, and will insist on offering sincere condolences. Half of them are Nazi’s and the other half the mothers of apartheid – I never thought age was an excuse. Each will insist on kissing me with downey-lavender-goo lips trailing breakfast spittle.

There will be the “gentleman friends”, each of whom has invented some aristocratic title, after finding out which buttons turned granny, well, generous. These expectant leeches will be feigning total devastation – try destitution - they got that one right. They will be late for the funeral due to the inconveniences of the once-rich, but they will all be early for the reading of the will!

And then, most frighteningly, there will be the spectre of my stepfather, who had a very, very close relationship with his mother-in-law. While still in the proverbial closet. He will wail like the apron-tied son, and glance over at my 100% biological brother, whom he believes is his son by immaculate conception – because God told him so in a vision.

No, I can’t do it. I cannot cloud the memory by this circus-freak side show. I said good-bye a year ago, when my visits became something of a catalyst for World War 3 among the family. I ensured that my daughter still spent time with her, so that she could have pleasant memories.

I would rather remember the smell of Ginger-beer in wooden crates under the sink, honey-comb pudding for good boys and Saturday morning tea than the stench of greed, malice and discontent.

Thanks for the memories, the history and the touch of genius, or is it madness? Sleep well. I love you.